Dead City Rising
by Happy the Hunter
Summary: Les Kapnos was a dreamer, but all his hope was crushed when DC was overrun, and he became one of the infected. A chance encounter with a curious Hunter sparks him to action, and with the help of some new zombie friends, he hopes to fix a broken city.


**Well hello fellow l4d fans. I'm new to this whole writing thing, and any constructive criticism is welcomed. This story has been in my head for ages, so bear with me as it starts off a little slow. Yes there will be plenty of goodies in later chapters: violence, romance, and plenty of drama. **

**This whole thing was inspired by a simple question. "What would you do if you lived in a city with no government, maintenance, or rules?" I decided to dump a bunch of oddballs in an overrun hell-hole, and see what they'd do. This is a product of that.**

**Disclaimer: The opinions of these characters do not necessarily reflect my own, and I own nothing but the story and characters. All things L4d belong to Valve and I'll try to put them back neatly when I'm done. **

**please review yada yada and on with the show!**

* * *

Les Kapnos stood with his back facing the mirror. Curiosity urged him to look, to confirm, but every ounce of his tattered sanity held him at bay from the glass siren mocking his hunched form. He had already suffered through one panic attack that day, and he certainly didn't want another.

He gave a defeated wheeze as his willpower finally caved in and his head slowly turned, as if pulled by some invisible thread, towards the deceptively evil mirror.

He froze. Like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, Les Kapnos once again came face-to-mutated-face with the monster in the mirror. He had met this monster on numerous occasions and its twisted form never ceased to fill him with deep-seated hatred.

It was covered in pulsing, green pustules that all but dominated the left side of its face and upper body. Small particles of a foul-smelling smog twirled in the dusty air around its gangly form, effectively rendering the creature as a walking, wheezing smokestack. The signature tongue of its particular strain, dangled limply from its sagging jaw like a length of rotten Laffy Taffy, made him gag. To top it off, the beast had, before its infection, dyed the tips of its greasy blond hair a ghastly shade of pink. As if it wasn't repulsive enough!

Les Kapnos, was a monster. A freak. A zombie. Infected. Beastly. Grotesque. _Hideous_. He clutched at his stomach, as if it might crawl out of his gaping mouth and slither down his tongue and onto the grimy tiles below at any second.

This was hell. A perfect nightmare-so to say, in the fact that the dreamer would never awaken. "_There's always suicide"_ his disease-addled brain whispered, but he knew he was far too much of a coward to kill himself.

So he took another shuddering breath before quietly straightening his crooked spine and shuffling slowly towards the door.

_Let's take things one step at a time…_

He could totally do this.

Maybe.

Outside, the world was just as ugly as he was. Corpses and the undead clogged the streets of DC. A few commons, missing chunks of flesh and milling aimlessly about, threaded through gaps in the frozen procession of cars. It was clear they had been trying to escape the infection, as most cars were stock-piled with the remains of since looted goods, from mattresses to the few haunting forms of abandoned baby strollers.

Some zombies had turned inside of the hulking metal prisons, and could be seen gnawing and clawing at the glass windows. While others stood quietly outside, as if patiently waiting for death; backpacks still strapped on and well equipped for the long trek to safety. Les would laugh if he wasn't so close to crying.

Despite the bloody landscape of the former U.S capitol, the silence was by far the most disturbing aspect of post-apocalyptic Washington. Save for the occasional groan of his infected brethren, there was nothing. Where were the explosions? The gunshots? The fighter jets? The military? The survivors? The HOPE?

All gone. Left with the president as he boarded that fucking jet and abandoned the nation. Gone gone gone.

And Lester Kapnos was alone. So very alone. It was hard being a sentient zombie. It was hard and no one understood.

He felt himself begin to choke up with that overwhelming fear again, but then he heard the tell-tale sound of machine gun fire. Distant, but closing in. He twisted the corners of his mouth into an unfamiliar shape, a smile, and began the long, painful trek towards salvation.

* * *

On the Outskirts of that very same city, crouched the still form of another special infected. He was hidden in the boughs of a flowering Cherry Blossom tree, and the heady scent of the pink blossoms made the poor infected sneeze.

The special in question was a Hunter, a fairly common infected known for their love of hoodies and duct tape. He was a fairly normal specimen, with the signature blue hoodie and brown sweatpants loosely secured with the peeling tape.

He was slightly chubbier than most, with a round face and pale complexion. The hoodie, covered in a generous smattering of gore, dirt, and sweat, was embellished with a simple design, a word, in red letters, that said, quite simply "Luck". But as his current infected state suggested, the Hunter was anything but "lucky".

Somewhere nearby, just out of his vision, a squirrel sifted through the detritus of leaves and trash. The sudden sound, made the Hunter jump, head twisting madly to locate the position of the disturbance.

He hated squirrels. They were too fast to catch and their persistent rustling sounded too much like the sound of sneaky monsters. Where were the ugly brutes? They used to be everywhere, practically crawling over each other in a mad dash for a nonexistent freedom. It had always been too easy to just reach out and pluck one from the river of screaming bodies, so easy to just kill one after another after another after another and

Gone. They were all gone. Not a single scream had sounded in ages, as only the squirrels seemed to keep living. And while the Hunter wasn't lonely, he was very, very bored. Mind you, he was practically brain-dead, so simply looking around for a book to read was out of the question. He only knew one way to keep himself occupied, and that was through good old fashioned bloodshed.

All those days spent crouching in that god-forsaken tree were about to pay off. Somewhere in the distance, the unforgettable sounds of a monster attack carried its melodic tune through the hazy air, and towards the Hunter's tree.

His head snapped up with a loud crack, as he tilted his head to and fro to pinpoint the direction of the new disruption.

There. Past the trees and hidden somewhere within the mess of tangled steel and concrete across the river. Not too long a trip considering his newfound speed and agility, but every second mattered, and the Hunter had no desire to miss out on the gory action. So, with an exited growl, he sharpened his claws against the soft bark of the tree before pouncing off towards the misty skyline of DC with an exited screech.

Things were finally looking up!


End file.
